


old scars

by goabani



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cutting, Implied Relationships, M/M, POV Second Person, Recovery, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 11:08:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11667891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goabani/pseuds/goabani
Summary: You really are one nosy motherfucker, you know that right? (Dadsona discovers another destructive habit of Robert's.)





	old scars

A special occasion would be… an appropriate way to describe whenever Robert would remove his jacket. In the dark, crowded space between them he would shed it without a second thought, finding security in the shade of his room. 

Now was much different. Perched on the tailgate of his truck, clad in just swim trunks, he’s holding your hand and rubs Betsey’s tummy with the other. It’s been five, maybe six months since Amanda has left for college and Robert has practically moved in to fill the empty spaces in the house with his noise. It is greatly welcome, as even the brief week without anybody to sit down with and watch some shows with late at night was upsetting. He visits almost everyday, whether to crash on your couch besides you or to take you out for drinks and make a scene he ends up at your place one way or another.

You’re peering down at his arm as you think about it, the skittering of Betsey’s claws on the flatbed startling you from your thoughts. She hops down from the truck and sticks the landing with a little shake before trotting off to do whatever she does. Snapped out of your reverie, you take a moment to admire the arm settled over your lap. As stated before, he’s got some damn nice hands. Much rougher than yours from the years of work, calloused and riddled with itty bitty scars for his whittling. Further up, there are stripes of discoloration on his dark skin. They aren’t perfectly spaced out or straight across, but range in colors from dark red to pale and white.

“These from the knife fight where the other guy lost three fingers for being unfamiliar with the eight basic rules of knife-fighting?” you ask, tracing the arm with the timid fingers not intertwined with Robert’s. He blinks, taken aback at the question and it’s nature. He thought it was obvious, but you were always a little weird with how you perceived the world around you. Separate experiences tended to do that but it might simply be denial, Robert lamented.

“You’re a real wild card.”

“Huh?” you cock your head. You weren’t going to disagree- sometimes you would surprise yourself with what you would say and do around Robert. You just couldn’t pick out why this is being said now.

“Yeah, they were from a fight if you want to look at it like that,” he hummed, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as very needed reassurance that everything was fine.  _ He looks like he just got stumped on his word jumble,  _ Robert observes on his partner’s features.

“Well- who’d you fight?” you press, curiosity gnawing at your insides. Robert doesn’t say anything, instead looks off to the side where Betsey disappeared like he was trying to think of a different subject to talk about. “Robert, I didn’t hear a snarky comeback to my simple question.” Again, he offers nothing but silence and you ask again- softer this time, “Robert?”

“I’ll give ya a minute to think about it,” he sighs, patting your hand and holding it to his arm for a second before he dropped it, “and if ya can’t figure it out- it’d be cruel to not tell you, wouldn’t it be?” You stare down at them again. It’s getting harder to see in the dying sunlight, but you get the picture of them ingrained in your memory long before that. You remember when you cut your thumb on your second date and how he didn’t hesitate getting out the first aid kit and dressing the wound.

Then it clicked, and now you feel absolutely awful for asking. His first aid kit was so well stocked for a reason, that makes an almost painful amount of sense and you feel like you get dizzy from realizing it. You know you’re in it for the long haul as your stupid mouth starts talking before you can process what you’re about to say.

“Are these from…” you mentally slap yourself- stop prying, you already know the answer.

“I made ‘em,” Robert hums. His voice sounds so tired and gentle, you have to look away from the scars before you start crying just thinking about it. “Each and every single one of them. Pretty lookin’ huh?” he cracks a smile, and a part of you is almost delighted. At least he doesn’t seem ashamed of them, and that puts just a little bit of his heart at rest with that information.

“Robert..”

“Gotcha, shouldn’t exactly be happy about it,” he reminds himself, pulling himself free of your clutches to help Betsy back onto the tailgate. No matter how tough and amazing the dog is, she is not a cat.

“When?” so much for the whole ‘not gonna pry’ idea.

“Huh?” he freezes with Betsy on his lap. She immediately wriggles free and goes for one of her toys.

“When did you last… erm, cut?”

“Ah shit, I don’t remember that. I think a month ago?” he shrugs and offers you his hand again. You accept it without a thought and cradle the hand between your own, your eyes follow where he points at a few. “That one looks new, so a month ago it is.” One in particular looks deep, you note- still a flushed, almost angry red despite the age of it. He had forgone the stitches for it despite the severity as it appears stretched at the ends. Having to guess, it was deep enough to maybe fit a dime in the gash. 

You wince at the thought of it. Robert sees the grimace on your face while you’re thinking about the dime. “Don’t think about it too hard, babe.”

“How can I not? You, you-” you make a frantic gesture and frown. There isn’t really a nice way to put this...

“Fucked myself up pretty bad, I know.” he says, filling in the rather wide blank you had made. A much harsher way of putting it, but definitely how you feel about it.

“Why?” you blurt out, shame creeping into your mind when Robert sucks in a sharp breath, brows knitted together. Fuck, I’m a nosy bastard.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know but deserve to. I’ll tell you another time, just- not now,” he sighs, reclaiming his hand after he deems the time that you’ve had has been enough to examine the scars, “I can’t right now.” He scratches at the crux of his hand, skin growing irritated and blotchy by the time you swat his hand away. The tattoo hails through the abuse however, and you spot a couple more white scars going through the… what is that, a sigil? Demon possession protection symbol? A ship wheel?

“Oh.”

“It’s deeper than that,” he chuckles like he was out of breath, still finding it in him to be impressed with the speed in which you put two and two together and got seven. “Nothing ever gets past you, huh?” Robert shoots you a smile that makes your stomach do a flip; it’s sharp and dangerous and promises an adventure, “You gotta promise me you’re not gonna kill him when I tell you.”

**Author's Note:**

> BACK AT IT AGAIN- cranking out that good ol' angst with a side of feels. Got any suggestions? HMU and I'll see what I can do.


End file.
